


apollo by the bay

by pidgeontown



Series: pidgeons brainrot songfics [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Crying, Disturbing Themes, Dream Sequence, DreamSMP - Freeform, Dreams, Gen, Georgenotfound Needs a Hug, Hurt, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mental Breakdown, Song Lyrics, Songfic, conflicted feelings, impulsive thoughts, small description of blood, tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeontown/pseuds/pidgeontown
Summary: The masked moon can whisper his heart into a false sense of security into the early hours of the morning, it can give touches that leave glowing fingertips on his skin but george will not let the blinding reflection and the void of midnight consume him.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: pidgeons brainrot songfics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197497
Kudos: 5





	apollo by the bay

**Author's Note:**

> ayup :)
> 
> another songfic, this time requested by a lovely human being (you know who u are)  
> its the song [eli's coming - three dog night](%E2%80%9C) I highly highly recommend listening to it, its a banger and a great suggestion.  
> for one I have no idea if the song fits the vibe but I tried to draw inspiration. by brain saw the line "apollo by the bay" and went off.
> 
> as always I am writing purely about the characters the ccs play on the dreamsmp. if they at any point change their minds about fanfictions of this calibre I won't hesitate to take it down.
> 
> and with that enjoy xx

_It was cold. The only noticeable factor of the endless void George was sinking into, yet sweat persisted to cling to his body, cold, seawater Dripping from his fingertips. His vision blurred and deepened around the edges creating a polarising film that clung to his lashline. Sand gritted beneath George's legs, slicing at the sensitive nerves of his calves as a replacement for the biting cold that plagued his wind-whipped body. His raven hair danced in the wind in front of his eyes, we watched as dandruff-like sand fell from the hairs onto his face._

_George's eyes followed his hair until redirecting to the blinding waves in front of him. The moonlight hit the foaming waves at just the right angle that they reflected the silver beams as a light show beneath the surface. The stark contrast of the white foaming waves to the deepened expanse of the ocean widened his eyes. The water was deep, deeper than ever, the vast light show of beaming greys was swallowed by the unapologetic ripples of the lower tide. The ocean spun the stars from the sky and corrupted the reflection into a wavy mess of clustered fragments, loosing there former glow and now being reduced to a pathetic hum of blue light. The vintage black sky, stars like imperfections in camera film, mirrored into the ocean forming a void that light clung to life in._

_Shivers wracked his body as the biting wind chewed at his fingertips, threatening the blue skin to crumble off the bone. The air spun the sand through George's fingers as he combed his hand through the dry grit. Sea glass dulled by the unforgiving salty waves, shells cracked and broken like porcelain, painted to perfection before being tossed to the sea and small pebbles passed in between his fingers in an unsatisfying mix of textures. The motion couldn’t calm the pit in his stomach._

_His pale hands reflected the moonlight, giving him a ghostly, ethereal glow from with. Under his skin seemed to glitter and light up like lightning coursing through his veins and sending moonbeams through his fingertips._

_Blocking his view of the moon above the water was a dark silhouette, detail-less save for a white disk hung in the dark, a worthy imitation of the moon if it wasn’t for the crudely drawn smile, etched onto its flawless pearl white surface. The person, or lack thereof, was draped in dark fabric, fabric that swallowed surrounding light and shone it from its moon-like mask. Stealing the light that was not it’s own and subjecting it to only shine for the figures needs. In that respect, the disk and the moon hold only one similarity. Ashes seem to shine in the air like glitter around the figure. Similar to that of sunrays catching dust through an open curtain, only the debris is clumpy and grey like that of ender particles._

_Layed out in front of the figure and George lay three cards, each as contrasting as the last. The cards seem similar to that of tarot cards yet the likely existence of the concept of the future, past or even present stay skewed and unreadable in this plane of reality. The dread of the future lays light in the air and any memories scatter in his brain like shards of a mirror, reflecting only himself in his current situation. Even the present is stale and thick, like cotton over his eyes. The tarot cards lay in a semi-circle around him like a halo by George's knees._

_The first one to the left displayed two bodies side by side in a sky of stars and constellations. Accents of gold and white accent the people, winding lines and brushstrokes around their joined hands. Delicate handiwork outline the border in a series of broken dots and dashes along with blooming flowers and detailed linework of thorned vines branching around the perimeter. Along the base of the card, the text reads ‘lovers’ in gentle calligraphy accented by gold leaves and small white blooming petals._

_The card to the right of the first, between the two, is similarly detailed and extravagant, although less cluttered. In place of the two figures from the ‘lovers’ card stands two dogs, both equally as detailed, each brushstroke holds strength and intention, each gold accent particularly placed and thought through. The dogs howl towards the face of a moon in the dead centre of the card. The moon is blank, like a whole carved through the sheet, completely void of any detail compared to the rest of the card. Hills stand tall in the background though simple block colours they stay strong with intention. At the bottom of the card in an identical fashion to the last, displays the text ‘moon’._

_And the last. It’s noticeably upsidedown, having to crane his neck to decipher the image. The card is dark, darker than the last. Any remaining details being overshadowed by a pitch-black background. Although in the foreground displays w white tower surrounded my stormy clouds snd golden lightning. Vines and willow branches decorated the white bricks of the tower, sporting withering golden leaves, not displaying the shine there former selves had. And simply at the bottom of the card displays ‘tower’._

_After evaluating the cards George looks back towards the figure in front of him, only the smile is askew and a long crack edges its way down the disk, breaking and infiltrating the flawless white base, like spilt black ink dripping down a crisp white page, corrupting the delicate paper. The figures smile is sickening yet he feels an odd scene of calm and comfort as he stares into their beady mesmerising eyes._

_The crack worsens and George feels a rumble of the earth beneath his feet, akin to a stampede barreling his way. The vibrations resonating in his stomach and his hands simulating the same tremble. He looks around searching for the source of the tremor only to be met with an earsplitting scratch of metal on porcelain, of nails on a chalkboard, of glass smashing. Bright white fills Georges senses, his body feeling the static of blank nerves._

_His skin felt like it was on fire while simultaneously being doused with ice-cold water, a rude awakening to unconsciousness. His fingers on his skin sent stabbing pains through his nerves, his muscles replaced with wire wool, scratching away from under his skin. Georges breathing felt heavy like sand had filled his lungs, gritting at the soft tissue at every inhale._

_His ears recovered from the screech and his eyes regained sight, having blacked out from the overwhelming sensations, letting his body take time to cooperate. New flashing vision gave him a premium view at the sky where a sickening crack stretched across the atmosphere, a tear in the firmament, the mirror of the sky smashed into fragments. The crack pierced right through the figures head, perfectly aligning with the crack right down the porcelain, selfish ‘moon’. Georges body filled with the utmost dread, shocking his body into fight or flight at the sudden change from static._

_The shards of the sky begin falling into the ocean_

_The shards of the sky begin falling into the ocean_

_Sickening cracks echo over the shore_

_Coldwater washes over his paralysed figure_

_From static to panic to consciousness_

George woke up in a cold sweat, the feeling of sand still clung to his heavily sweating body. His duvet added an uncomfortable weight to the man as he struggles to pull himself from its restraints.

The moon shone through his sheer curtains in a beautiful albeit unsatisfying ray of light, filling his room with a mystical aura. The light danced off the glass of his windows and the various objects in his room, fragmenting the blue haze into a brilliant display of purples and whites, seeming to continue to bounce off any surface and repeat itself like a fractal, eventually filling the room with blinding white light like a glass prism. It may have been his eyes but the light seemed brighter than possible. The dust in George's room lit up like fireflies and drifted around him in a mesmerising sway of fairy dust and broken, fragmented white light. The beams created a pattern on his ceiling of that like cracked glass, bouncing off the walls and streaking like neon paint across the wallpaper. The moon shining its brightest. for his awakening

George grimaced at the brightness and let his eyes adjust to the blinding light before exiting the room.

He felt that familiar post-nap haze beginning to fog his brain, stuffing his mouth with cotton so he promptly moved over to the sink to fetch himself a glass of water.

Even with joggers and a hoody cold persisted to plague the entire expanse of George's body, prickling his nerves to the point his hairs stand on end. Even the cool glass felt room temperature against the palm of his hand, feeling the rubber cold skin slip at the condensation. Was he really so cold? He couldn’t be as sweat continued to drip and run on his body, creating ice-cold, vein-like channels of sweat running like a network over his torso under his jumper.

The snap of the tap turning on welcoming his subconscious to the sound of running water, waves crashing, splitting cracks.

George thought back to the dream while subconsciously filling his glass with water. He knew that mask, that twisted smile, the sickening imperfections that seemingly replaced the moon.

_The moon reflects light, never gives off its own, only shares what little it is given by the sun. so why, why did that mask have to be his only source of reflecting light? Why cant he have his moon back? The moon that danced in the milky way, celebrated and lit up the sky when the sun was away, the moon that let the stars shine at their brightest, the moon that shares what it has and never asks for more in return._

_That mask had unknowingly become his moon although a warped imitation of what he once knew and loved. George tried to get used to the change in atmosphere, the new moon was kind and shared, some would say a worthy replacement. That was only before the crack, the crack that threatened the existence of the tides, the light of the stars. And god he loved the new moon, all the same, he was blinded by the reflection to realise the guilt and devastation of the seas collapsing around them._

_George had tried to run at the realisation of still water slowly rising at his feet, yet the moon stayed looming, smile ever-present in his gaze. He walked but never got far, the ‘moon’ still hanging heavy in the sky. He had tried, tried to hide his heart at the infecting rays of blue light yet the smashed shards of mirrored light slid in between his ribs and shattered his heart. George had grown tough, resilient, learning to dodge the night and hide in sun-baked fields between the mushrooms and blooms, yet his heart stayed hidden in the dark cavity of his chest, never seeing the sun. his heart stayed glass, porcelain, like the mask that he can’t bring himself to hate, never to escape that burning heartache._

_The masked moon can whisper his heart into a false sense of security into the early hours of the morning, it can give touches that leave glowing fingertips on his skin but he will not let the blinding reflection and the void of midnight consume him._

The glass slips from George's grasp. Shattering all over the ground sending small glass shards dispersing over the tiled kitchen floor. Water followers the cracks in the ceramic and pool at his feet 

Suddenly the stress, the heat? Chill? the glass, the moon. It all gets to much and he becomes a cracked, fractured hunch of a body on the kitchen floor. Salty tears burst from George's eyes in an ugly display of hacking breaths and trembling fingers. Tugging desperately at his hair as the glass shards dig into his skin. Out of frustration, he wants to dig his hands into the shards and run his hand’s all over his body, gritting and slicing his skin like sandpaper. Saltwater tears and sand-like glass shards bring him down further beneath the waves as the moon taunts above the foam. Tears fall rapidly and before his lungs can catch up he begins screaming into the void, his lungs filling with salt water as he uses his last breaths. His shattered heart digs uncomfortably into his chest, shards piercing the previously tough, light and glass resistant tissue of his skin. The paranoia of a repeating chorus, repetitive screams of “run”. 

Choking sobs resonated in the kitchen, glass scattered amongst tears and water, bloodied hands press firmly into the ground as a grounding gesture, only semi-successful. The pounding of his cracked heart escaping his ribcage, his exhausted lungs all came to a head when he rubbed a bloodied down his face as he regained his breath. Pathetic meltdown he thought. Over the stupid moon. Letting a sad smile stretch across his face at the humour of his break. 

Little did George know the moon smiled back 

_\---_

_“Im coming George, it’s written in the cards”_

_“The stars even”_

**Author's Note:**

> **song requests open :)**


End file.
